Centennial
by Tsuchikororin
Summary: The Fourth Quarter Quell has arrived, and the Gamemakers have big plans.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: The format we used is that each character takes a perspective leading up to the games. Once we get to the arena we'll skip around more as plot demands. These are the first three districts, from before the reaping to the end of the train ride.

**Katerina Emerald, District 1**

A crash sounded from the kitchen. Katerina groaned and rolled over. Prying open a mascara-pasted eye, she focused on the clock on the bedside table. Seven o'clock. Of course her mother would be making an unholy racket in the early hours of the morning, because she knew Katerina'd be hung over from yesterday's reaping party. _Love you too, Mom._

She forced herself to sit upright, performed a sort of barrel roll out of bed, and shuffled into silk slippers. The clanging of pots and pans continued as she tripped her way to the bathroom for a shower. Turning on the lights was out of the question.

As Katerina stood under the warm water, she reviewed the events of last night. She and Bluebell had a few drinks, hung out with a couple of guys… what were their names? One of them started with a D, or an E, or something like that. She had a vague memory of an intoxicated Rosalie hopping up on a chair to announce that she was volunteering. Well, all power to Rosie, but not Katerina. Not this year. She could do with another year of training, so she wanted to wait until she was at least seventeen or eighteen.

She stepped out of the shower, dried off, and got dressed. Her dress had been picked out at least a week in advance. It was a little emerald green number with a halter neck and an empire waist. The color matched her eyes exactly. She knew it was beautiful, but she had to ascertain that it looked as good as she remembered. Bracing herself, she flipped on the light for half an instant.

Huh. Pretty good. Her dark hair was still damp, and it was already falling into perfect waves. Eyes a little bloodshot but nothing too noticeable. The dress looked fantastic. She managed a satisfied smirk before shutting off the lights and staggering down to the kitchen.

Her mother was drying dishes at the sink. Katerina had a faint hope that she would say something nice about the dress, but when she saw her daughter, her nose wrinkled and she turned away again. Of course not. Sixteen years of living with this woman and Katerina still hadn't earned anything close to human affection.

"Good morning, Mother."

"I thought you might be up," Mrs. Emerald replied, her lip curling. "I could smell the booze from down the hallway. So you were…celebrating last night?"

"So what if I was?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Underage drinking. Classy."

" 'Will all great Neptune's ocean wash this liquor clean from my breath?' " Katerina muttered.

"Some mouthwash might help, at least."

She walked over to the counter and got herself a slice of bread. Her mother wasn't actually making breakfast for her. Mrs. Emerald was just making noise for the sake of making noise. Katerina resolved to grab some toast and escape the sub-zero zone as soon as possible.

"Why are you dressed like that? Working the street corner today?"

"I didn't realize that you'd familiarized yourself with my covert whoring schedule," Katerina sneered. "I'm flattered. Maybe we can make it a joint effort."

She ignored her. "You know the reapings are televised, right? Oh, wait, that must be your advertising strategy."

Katerina tried to end the conversation. It was reaping day—Quell day, no less. It was a day for celebration. It was not a day to be bickering with her mother during breakfast. However, the conversation was following the inevitable downward slope. If her mother ever showed an iota of interest in her progress, things could be different. Katerina had been training so long and so intensely-how hard would it be for her mother to say something encouraging like 'keep up the good work' and pat her on the back? Even that was too much to expect.

"When are you leaving?" Mrs. Emerald demanded. "Soon? Because now I have a headache and you're making too much noise."

"How? All I did was put a piece of toast in the toaster!"

"Your smell is making my sinuses hurt."

"Good God! Every time we're together for more than five minutes, you have to criticize me for something!" Katerina shouted. "Yeah, I know you were perfect when you were my age and you won the Games and everything, but seriously? Just let me eat in peace!"

"Oh, I'm the villain now? And because I don't like you running around like a drunken floozy every night-"

"-thanks to the great parenting I received!" Katerina finished sarcastically. "I'm glad I have such a fantastic role model in my life!"

"Like any well-adjusted adult would spend time with you! No wonder your father ran off!"

Both of them stood there for a moment, too angry to speak. When Katerina finally found words, her eyes were stinging but her voice was steady. "I'm volunteering."

"Good for you," was her mother's unaffected response. She walked out of the kitchen.

Katerina picked up her plate and hurled it after her, not even wincing when it shattered against the door frame. Then she stomped out the door.

**Noah Hearth, District 1**

The arena thundered with the cheers of half the district. Noah and the rest of the 14-year olds huddled together in the floor section. From the stage, his usually cheerful Aunt Andromeda watched the proceedings with a grim solemnity. She seemed to be avoiding Noah's gaze on purpose. Seeing her like that made cold dread settle in his stomach, a little like her cooking did. Before they separated, she had given him and his younger brother Finncast their yearly reminder that if they volunteered, they would be in serious trouble. As usual, Noah had only paid attention to the first minute or so. As if he'd ever go to the Games. The older, bigger kids already had a monopoly on the volunteering system.

The crowd was excitable; several shouting matches had already broken out between would-be volunteers. When the mayor strode out onto the stage, however, the noise died down instantly. Amandla Manyaka raised her hands over the arena in a welcoming gesture. "Let's hear it for our mentor this year, only sixteen when she last stood on this stage with me. The victor from the 90th games, Andromeda Hearth!" She gave Noah's aunt a poisonous smile. Andromeda had never hidden her dislike for District 1's governing body, but she curtsied to the crowd anyway. "This year's escort will be Elis Holm." The tall, bespectacled blond man beside Andromeda nodded. Polite applause. "I want to thank everyone for joining us here today," she continued, "and what a day it is!"

_Yeah_, Noah thought. _I had to wake up at 11 in the blessed A.M. for this. That's just cruel._

Tall as he was for his age, Noah still couldn't catch a glimpse of his tiny brother. Somewhere in the arena, his older sister Athena sat with her fiancé (he would say she was too good for the chump, but that would just be jealousy talking). His father was at work.

"…And now we'll begin the Reaping. The lucky tribute will have the chance to bring honor and fortune to our district…"

Waylon Hearth was a busy man, Noah knew.

"…As parents, you should be proud if your son or daughter is selected. We send our tributes not into death, but immortality. Your children will become heroes and heroines."

Even so, his father's absence pulled at the inside of his skin, like an itch he couldn't scratch.

"Finncast Hearth!"

The name tore through his thoughts and jerked him back to the stadium. Immediately, hands shot up all across the floor. Noah's included. His brother was not going. That was certain. Aunt Andromeda clutched Finncast's forearm as he took the stage. It looked like he was the one supporting her.

"Well, this is a twist." Manyaka clapped his aunt on the back. She staggered forward from the blow. "Now the escort may choose one of the volunteers. Who will you send to fight instead of young Finncast?"

Noah stretched his fingertips as high up as they could reach, and Andromeda's eyes hardened as they caught his. Mayor Manyaka glanced at his aunt before she bent her head towards Elis Holm and whispered something. The action was lost in the confusion taking place on the floor. Volunteers had gone from shouting at one another to full-on brawling. Noah sidestepped a boy biting another on the arm. Like dogs over a bone. Probably a radius. Ouch.

"Noah Hearth!" Elis called. Instantly the entire arena's attention was turned towards him.

_The most attention anyone's paid to me_, Noah thought. _Gee, I guess this is what it's like to be famous_. Low hisses of _too young_ followed him up to the stage. Finncast, terror-stricken, didn't move even as Noah approached. Andromeda gave the boy a gentle push toward the stairs. She said nothing to her older nephew.

"Let's continue, shall we?" Manyaka said, and Elis drew the next name.

"Lyre Callistus," he read. A small fourteen-year-old wobbled to the stage. Elis then looked out at the sea of raised hands. "You. With the green dress."

Katerina Emerald sauntered up to the stage. Noah was a Village kid, so he didn't know many of the District 1 eligibles, but this girl, she was the best knife-thrower in the district. Pretty, in a haughty way. She tossed her long hair and smiled out at the crowd.

"This year's District 1 representatives!" Mayor Manyaka led the arena in thunderous applause.

"This way," a security guard called, and directed the tributes off stage.

**Fang Meither, District 2**

The guards seated Fang in the conference room of the Justice Building. She waved a hand, dismissing them, and then they filed out the door. This goodbye business irritated her. She just wanted to get up and go. The Capitol was waiting, the Games were waiting. Her family already knew she was going. Why drag it out any longer than it needed to be? ...Then again, a daylong train ride with that irritating bastard Zen didn't sound so appealing. Perhaps that could be put off a little.

Her mom and dad, followed by her younger sisters Kay and Saphir, entered the room. They were all smiling.

"Honey," her mom said, enveloping her in a hug, "we're so proud of you."

"You've worked hard for this. We know you'll do well," her father added.

"Of course I will," Fang agreed.

Saphir skipped over to join them, while Kay stayed shyly back. "If you win, then we can be famous and live in a big house," Saphir announced in her typical blunt fashion, making them all laugh. "So be sure to win."

Mrs. Meither drew back and looked at her eldest daughter. Her smile was sad now. "We'd better let Farah see you before you go." She smoothed Fang's long blond hair behind her ear. "We all love you, you know. Do your best, and have a great time."

"I will," Fang promised.

As they left the room, Fang couldn't help but feel a little depressed. She tried to console herself with the fact that she would be back soon.

A few seconds later, Farah, Fang's best friend, strolled in like she owned the place. She took a seat across from Fang.

"Hey," Fang said.

Farah chose to forgo the pleasantries. "Do you have a plan?"

"Duh." Fang scoffed.

"Good. Stick to it. Find some allies and stay with them to hunt."

"You're honestly worried about me?" Fang asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No. If anything, I'm worried that this will be too easy for you." Her gaze was intense. "Kill before you're killed, Fang. Don't get conceited."

"Me? Never," Fang said with a grin.

Farah paused. "Do you have a token?"

"Oh, shoot. I forgot."

"Here. Take this." She slipped a ring off her right hand and gave it to Fang. Fang turned it over, examining it with satisfaction. It was black and skull-themed, just like her earrings. "Thanks," she said.

"Well? Put it on."

She obliged. It looked natural there.

"Bust some noses with it," Farah commanded, finally returning Fang's grin. "And give it back when you visit on your Victory Tour."

"No way. I'm keeping it," Fang joked.

They heard a noise at the door and saw that the guards had returned. One spoke. "Time to go."

"Yeah, whatever. Give me a second," Farah replied. She turned to Fang and held out a fist. Fang bumped it with her own. "Remember what I said! Good luck."

Several guards led her away, and the rest motioned to Fang. With a sigh, she stood up and followed them from the room.

**Zen Marikse, District 2**

Zen and Fang stood by the door of the train, blinded by the flashes of a hundred cameras. Zen was completely relaxed, but Fang seemed tense, and she kept shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

"You'll look a lot hotter in the pictures if you're not squirming around," Zen pointed out in a stage whisper.

Fang glared at him.

"I'm just saying," he continued out of the corner of his mouth. His skills at grinning charismatically and talking at the same time were unmatched. "We want to look our best for the sponsors, don't we? I mean, obviously we'll get some, attractive people as we are, but we want as many as possible. Hey, we should work together, because we're from the same district. I know I have a girlfriend, but she won't mind because she wants me home in one piece. Oh, come on. Smile. Don't be such a downer. No one likes a mopey girl."

"I am so sick of your shit," Fang snapped, and she turned around and walked into the train.

"...Plus, it's not like you would be able to ally with anyone else. I mean- hey! Wow. Okay. Cool." Whatever. He didn't need her, anyway. God, this was going to be a long ride.

"Cute, isn't she?" he said to the photographers, and winked at them before following her into the compartment.

When he arrived in his room, he explored the so-called amenities. It was slightly worse than the average District 7 slum. Or at least, how he imagined a slum in District 7 to be, judging from the way they dressed. Disgusted at the lack of a mini-bar, he travelled to the dining car resolving to notify his father. His mentor, Enobaria, was already waiting there. If the talk he heard was to be believed, she once ripped out a tribute's throat with her teeth. Charming.

"Zen, right?"

"Yeah. You were alive during the rebellion, weren't you?" he asked her. That would make her ancient. Like 50, or something.

"Why?"

"I thought you might have an idea about the arena."

She shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine, kid."

"Great," Zen mumbled, then in a louder voice, he said, "Just wondering."

"So do you have a strategy?"

"Sure. Find some other stunning people and hang with them. Rack up the sponsor points with my wit and grace."

Enobaria looked at him pityingly. "I'm afraid that will not be enough," she said.

"Well, what else do I need to do?" he asked, insulted. "Feast upon human flesh?"

She snarled at him, and he caught a glimpse of those infamous teeth filed to points. "Your life is in my hands, Zen Marikse. Remember that."

A very long train ride, indeed.

**Sandra Bennett, District 3**

Plancor was still not speaking to her. The silence clearly made their escort, Enoe Meloxi, uncomfortable. Although Enoe had already tried several times to make peace between the quarreling couple, his attempts were thwarted by his feeble presence. Sandra helped herself to more apple dumpling and roast pork. She found no reason to force conversation while Plancor was upset.

"Isn't tonight romantic, though?" Enoe suggested, his hands shaking as he lifted his fork up to his mouth. "Candlelight dinner on the train together?"

Plancor brought his fist down on the table, causing Enoe to start and drop apple dumpling down his front. "This is none of your business," he growled.

Their mentor laughed. "Careful, Balbon. You're gonna make the little guy piss his pants."

Plancor barely glanced at her. The force of his scowl sent Meloxi deep into his seat, skinny shoulders pushed up around his ears. Sandra dabbed at her lips with a napkin. She felt with some certainty that sponsors would be no problem for them. The Capital loved a doomed romance.

The train car rumbled beneath them in a steady rhythm. Sandra listened as Plancor's harsh breathing quieted. A year ago, beneath the pale green streetlights of District 3, she had promised herself to make him happy for as long as he lived. The end of his life was approaching faster than she originally planned for.

"You two go ahead," their mentor told them. "I'll join you in a bit."

Plancor stood, and his hand found hers in a too-tight grip as they left the compartment together to watch the recaps. Through the window, stars glittered in the blackness. District 3 was usually too full of light pollution to see the stars.

**Plancor Balbon, District 3**

The program began with a review of the Quell's announcement. President Brassicale spoke of a special arena to commemorate the twenty-fifth anniversary of the failed rebellion. Plancor had already considered what the arena might be, taking into account the vague and ominous use of the word 'special,' and he had deduced that it could be nothing good. A battlefield, perhaps, or a model of the Capitol itself. They would likely make the Games twice as deadly as usual just to make a point.

District 1's tributes were the standard beautiful, deadly Careers, although there was something of a disturbance with the volunteering because the male tribute's aunt happened to be his mentor. Plancor shuddered at the thought of having his father as a mentor-he would end up starting the Games in worse shape than he already was. Upon watching District 2's reaping, he resolved to keep Sandra as far away from both tributes as possible.

Then there was their reaping, with Sandra calmly taking her place on the stage as he looked on, helpless and furious. She had insisted upon volunteering, because she hadn't wanted him to die alone or some bull like that. Watching it again almost made him angry, but as on-screen Sandra smiled vacantly through the proceedings, he came to an understanding. Sandra had no one. Her parents were dead, her grandmother was dying. He was all she had left. To let her stay in District 3 alone while she watched him die-it would be cruelty. At least now they could spend their last few days together. Plancor slipped his arm around her and brushed her long red hair behind her shoulders. Having her here was more comforting than he would be willing to admit.

District 4 had two tributes on the opposite ends of the spectrum; the girl seemed almost reluctant as she volunteered, and the boy didn't hesitate a second. The rest of the reapings passed by in a blur, although Plancor did wonder whether the reaping of the children of several District 13 refugees was too coincidental. Most of the others looked fairly weak, especially the tiny girl from 7. Only two other tributes caught his attention, a boy from 10 and a girl from 12. Both seemed tough. Trustworthy. They were good ally material. Plancor made a mental note to approach them later.

Just then, the door opened, and their mentor stepped in. "Though I'd give you two a little time alone. Have the recaps finished?"

Plancor nodded.

"You two had better get to bed. Tomorrow will be a busy day."


	2. Chapter 2

**Brienna Stone, District 4**

Brienna sat on a table at the Remake Center, shivering as her prep team circled her.

"Such beautiful eyes," remarked Amity, a woman with lurid yellow pigtails that brushed the floor. "Blue with just a hint of green. These will do nicely."

"She's a bit frizzy, though." Cicero rubbed a long brown lock of hair between his fingers, and Brienna had to keep from flinching.

"Yes, but that will be easily remedied with our shine treatment. Don't be nervous, dear," Horatia added, placing a comforting red hand on Brienna's bare shoulder. "We're trained professionals. We don't bite."

"And you are going to be dazzling when we are done with you," Cicero assured her.

"Thank you," Brienna managed.

A little less than two hours of scouring, yanking, and exfoliating later, Brienna was positive that none of her original stratum corneum remained. She did look significantly better though—her skin was smoother, her hair shinier. When she glanced in the mirror, she was surprised at the transformation.

"Good," observed Cicero. "Well, then. Marcella!"

The door flew open, hitting the wall with a loud bang and startling them. It seemed that the tallest woman on earth stood in the doorway. Her already impressive height was enhanced by her purple bouffant and her long, pinstriped suit. "Everybody out!" she trilled.

The prep team scattered in all directions, and though Brienna was tempted to do the same, she stayed put. The woman marched over to the table and gazed at her with fierce intensity. "Satisfactory," she announced, and turned on her heel and left the room for a few seconds. When she returned, a long blue robe was draped over her arm. "Stand up," she commanded.

Brienna obeyed, and the woman yanked the robe over her head. She barely managed to stuff her arms through the armholes when Marcella demanded, "Token."

In answer, Brienna unclenched her fist and revealed a small pink pearl strung on a wire. Marcella snatched it from her and fastened it around her neck. "You'll be matching your district partner-though I daresay the two of you aren't much alike," Marcella muttered. Brienna had to agree with that. Yelena had rebuffed her tentative attempt at conversation on the train, and they had not spoken since.

"Turn so I can see you, darling. I need to fix your face." Marcella was not overly gentle in applying makeup, and on occasion she would bark out a command like "chin up" or "don't blink." Her mere presence was overbearing. It made Brienna think of her parents.

They were the ones that had pressured her into volunteering in the first place, which she never would have done on her own. The thought of killing someone made her stomach feel sick, but the prospect of disappointing her parents was equally daunting and she had to choose between the two. She chose the Games. If she won, it wouldn't be so bad.

Right?

"I am finished." Marcella slammed a mascara wand on the counter. Brienna looked up, startled, but her stylist was already dashing out the door.

With some trepidation, she turned her eyes to the mirror. It wasn't so bad. The eye shadow and blush were tasteful. Her hair was in an elegant knot at the nape of her neck. And the robe really brought out her eyes. She sighed in relief.

"Brienna." Yelena, accompanied by his prep team and stylist, were standing at the door. "Time to go," he said.

**Yelena Sofiyanski, District 4**

The horses were docile. Seemed to be the calmest living things in the stable. Pathetic. Yelena stepped onto the chariot beside a shaking Brienna, robe flapping around his ankles. Persistent stylist followed them. Fussed. Was it not time for them to make their entrance into the city circle? He was struck by a sudden ill humor and aimed a kick at the stylist doing the last minute decorating on Yelena's boots. The man let out a cry and leapt back, blue skin flushing maroon.

The District 4 preparations team had draped him in a blue-green silk robe, a sea filled with silver fish embroidered on the back. The ropey scar stretching from beneath his right eye to his left jaw had been caked in make-up. Made his face itch. Seemed ridiculous. They would be able to see it during the Games, after all. And it was not as though they had not seen it when he volunteered. "Takes away from those delicious caramel eyes of yours," Marcella had explained. Irritating woman.

If anything took away from his eyes, it would be the black crown perched atop his head, ending in sharp points and decorated with blue gems. It contrasted sharply with Yelena's white-blonde hair and was far too obtrusive for his liking. A sea urchin seemed to be the inspiration. The chariot itself had been modified to resemble a sail boat. Garish. All of it.

When the music began and the doors slid open, the crowds lining the streets went wild. District 1's male wore a strained smile and gilded armor plates on his chest, shoulders, and arms. A cape fluttered behind him. The District 1 female wore a dress. A knight and a princess. How trite.

The chariots proceeded into the city circle. To Yelena's relief the others looked as ridiculous as he did. Maybe more so. The whole mess with interviews and costumes. It belonged to pretty, charming tributes like the girl from District 1. That was her arena, winning hearts. Yelena was in the business of putting sharp objects through them.

Beside him, his female counterpart was turning a delicate green. Yelena could not help but feel some satisfaction for the effect he had on Brienna. Unsure as to why he did. He had not done anything close to frightening. Yet. Since the train she had been avoiding him.

Frustrated him that Brienna was so inadequate. A Career, too. Meaning she would be running with the pack. With him. At the least he would not have to concern himself with being knifed in his sleep. Yelena could kill her with ease. Yet Brienna's weak will prevented her from laying a finger on him.

As they pulled up to the training center, the chariot stopped with a jolt. Brienna pitched forward. "Careful," said Yelena. He grinned at her. She made a run for the center. Watching her go, he began to feel less frustrated. Even if he couldn't kill anyone yet, nothing prevented him from scaring the living hell out of the other tributes.

**Asha Larch, District 7**

Asha fled from the chariot without waiting for her mentor or her escort. She ran straight for the elevators, drawing startled looks from the Capitol attendants as she passed. All she wanted was to return to her room and change out of this ridiculous costume. She felt certain that she had made a fool of herself in front of the entire nation of Panem by even bothering to show her face in the City Circle. As a tree, no less.

The elevators were at the end of the hallway, and she slid to a halt, panting. On the bright side, no one else had arrived yet. That meant she didn't have to suffer through more situations involving social interaction.

…Which, of course, was the cue for the biggest, meanest Career guy to amble up next to her, with the clear intention of taking the next elevator. It was District 2's tribute. Asha could feel her face burning and she crossed her arms over her chest. Luckily, he didn't offer any sort of greeting, so they stood in silence. Out of the corner of her eye, she sneaked a look at him. He was muscular. Tall, over a foot taller than she was. His hair was dark and his eyes were a cold blue. If she met this guy during the bloodbath, she had better run.

That's when his chariot costume caught her attention. The crisp white fabric was obviously supposed to imitate a Peacekeeper's uniform, but…but…something was wrong. The fear that she usually associated with Peacekeeper garb was diminished by the absurd number of rhinestones—and oddly, feathers—that his stylist had utilized. He looked a little bit like an albino peacock.

Asha could feel hysterical laughter welling up inside her. She tried to suppress it, but a snicker escaped and she clapped a hand over her mouth. It was too late. Zen turned to stare at her.

To her surprise, instead of the angry or menacing frown she was expecting, his face wore a sly grin. "Like the outfit?" he asked, striking a valiant pose. Asha could only nod, as she was giggling too much to do anything else. _I must seem like such an idiot,_ she thought, but she realized that she didn't care. Dressed like that, he was impossible to take seriously.

The elevator chose that moment to arrive, and both walked in. They were quiet until the doors closed, and then Zen said with a straight face, "I like yours too."

Asha glanced down at her costume, which was composed of a few scraggly, strategically placed vines, and cracked up. She couldn't help it. For the entirety of her second ever televised appearance, she had been wearing nothing but fake plants. Things couldn't get much worse from here on out.

Zen joined in laughing after a few seconds, and he was still chuckling when the elevator reached the second floor. The doors opened and he strolled out, calling, "Later!" over his shoulder.

Asha felt a little better. Although she had been paraded around the Capitol in terrible clothing, at least she wasn't the only one. Even the Careers weren't exempt from this kind of humiliation. They were human too.

Of course, that was going to make them a lot harder to kill.

**Keaton Lancaster, District 7**

"Asha? Asha, wait up!" Keaton called, dashing after her. He reached her room and knocked. "Don't you want to eat?"

"No, I'll just skip dinner tonight," she mumbled from inside. "I don't think I can face everyone after that chariot ride."

"It wasn't that bad!" he protested.

"Keaton," she said. "Keaton, you are wearing a bunch of twigs. I have vines covering my- never mind! I'm not hungry."

"Alright," Keaton said. Come to think of it, he didn't feel like eating either. He returned to his quarters, resolving to apologize to his team later.

Upon reaching the room, he let out a groan and fell onto his bed. A branch poked him in the back. He was a little disappointed; however, he understood her need for privacy. They'd spent so much time together the past few days, he didn't think he could kill her at this point. She was too much like an older sister now. He wound his necklace around his finger and gripped the glass vial. It contained tree sap from the first tree he'd ever cut down. Uncorking it, he breathed in. He missed District 7. The stylists hadn't even gotten his costume right. They had dressed him as a deciduous tree, despite that the majority of lumber work was done in coniferous forests.

It wasn't just missing the woods, though. Keaton was terrified for his family. He sat up on the bed, stomach churning. Without Keaton around, who was going to protect his brother? Help his father with the lumber? Thirteen-year-olds rarely won the Games, but Keaton had to try. His older brother Matthew was autistic and often teased by the other District 7 kids. Keaton had gotten in more than one fight to protect him. That was why he was here in the first place. He'd volunteered after his brother was reaped. The Games were just another fight for Matt's sake.

Keaton stood and began pulling branches off. They had been sewn with a few stitches to a skintight suit that matched his olive skin. Basically, it made him look like he was only wearing sticks. He shook the remainder of the leaves from his shaggy black hair and crawled between the sheets.

It seemed like he had only shut his eyes for a moment before his mentor was banging on his door, telling him to get out of bed.

**Arden Wade, District 10**

Breakfast was a rushed affair. His drunken mentor spouted off nonsense, his District partner sobbed into her bowl of stew, and he had tried to wolf down his food as quickly as possible. It seemed like Lira hadn't stopped crying since they left. He didn't blame her. Actually, he felt sorry for her. At the same time he kept his distance. She was the child of a 13 refugee, which made her dangerous. The Careers disliked her. The Capitol would never let her live. If he became attached to Lira, Arden would only be endangering himself.

A large circle of tributes had formed in the center of the gymnasium when Arden arrived, district numbers pinned to their backs. Up close, this year's Careers looked a lot nastier. Arden was leaner, maybe, but in one-on-one combat he might have a tough time… which was unfortunate, because one-on-one combat was the only thing he had going for him.

The head trainer announced that they should begin. Arden held back as he moved through the stations. Best to conceal what little talent he had and keep a low profile for now. Instead, he observed the others.

District 2's tributes were studiously ignoring each other. The Careers were the most well-rounded tributes present, navigating their tasks with ease. In contrast, both District 7 kids floundered through, bungling knots and apologizing to trainers the whole way. District 3's male trained while his girlfriend stood by with a towel and water bottle at the ready. The District 12 female sparred with the assistants the whole time. When he first saw her, Arden was confused as to why District 12 had reaped two guys. Her dark hair was cropped short in a tomboyish style.

The tributes were forbidden from fighting with one another. For that reason, Arden tried to avoid contact altogether. He was prone to getting tangled up in things, and it'd be no good getting himself killed before the Games even began.

He needed an alliance, though. With the Careers forming their inevitable clique, he had to find a group if he wanted a chance at getting out alive.

All the while, the Gamemakers in their long robes watched from the stands like great purple birds.

"Lunchtime!" the head trainer called, and Arden lined up with the rest of the tributes.

**Evangeline "Van" Holden, District 12**

Van stood, tray in hand, scanning the cafeteria for a seat. She found a half-empty table nestled at the back of the room and took the end seat. Eating alone didn't really bother her. Over the past few days she had become accustomed to dining in a quiet setting. Come to think about it, she had become accustomed to a lot of things. Back at home with her four brothers, meals were essentially a free-for-all. Etiquette had been an inconvenience at best. Here it was a necessity. Van still had difficulty thinking of a fork as a kitchen utensil rather than a weapon, but she was learning.

A glance around the cafeteria told her that some of the tributes had already formed alliances. Six Careers dominated the table near the door, and the District 7 tributes were seated beside each other. The rest were alone like her. She didn't feel the need to seek out anyone, though—she was fine on her own.

"Hi. Evangeline, wasn't it?"

Van looked up from her plate. A pimply, long-haired teenager with a goatee stood before her. His voice was friendly but cautious. "I'm Plancor Balbon, and this is my girlfriend Sandra." Behind him, a redheaded girl gave Van a shy smile. Van tried to return it, but couldn't summon the sincerity. "Could we sit with you?" Plancor asked.

Van thought for a moment. "Sure," she decided.

They settled in across from her. After a few seconds, Plancor spoke up. "We were wondering if you would consider forming an alliance with us."

Van didn't answer at first. She weighed the pros and cons in her head. On one hand, the two of them didn't strike her as the backstabbing type, but on the other hand, she could be wrong. Just as a test, she decided to prolong the silence. Plancor fidgeted under her stare, but didn't retract the offer. Abruptly, she admitted to herself that she needed them. One lone girl wouldn't be able to stand against six Careers for long. Besides, she could always leave if things got tense.

"Yeah," Van told them. "That would work for me."

"Great!" Plancor was pleased. "First off, what are your ideas about the arena? What do you think it'll be?"

"Hm. I don't know. I thought it might have something to do with fire...you know, following the whole 'on fire' theme of the rebellion. Plus, there were a lot of fire-related weapons used on the districts."

He nodded. "Your district got the worst of it, right? Everything was firebombed."

Van didn't know much about the bombings; they had happened almost a decade before she was born. The place she called home had sprung up from the ashes of the previous District 12. "Yes. So a volcano, maybe?"

"Good thinking. Or it might be on terrain that's prone to wildfires." He shrugged. "I don't really know. It's hard to predict."

"No kidding," Van agreed. "It's too early to make plans. We should just wait and see."

"Well, there was one other thing we wanted to do..." Plancor exchanged a look with Sandra. "We were thinking about recruiting the District 10 boy. Are you okay with that?"

"Which one is he?"

Plancor jerked his head toward a boy sitting alone a few tables away. "That guy. Do you want to come with us?"

"Now? All right."

The trio picked up their trays and walked over to him. "Hello," Plancor greeted. "Arden, correct?"

Arden gazed at them through a tangle of dark hair, wary. "Yes. What?"

"We're trying to get a group together for the Games. Would you like to join?" The casual way Plancor phrased the question made it sound like an invitation to a party. It was a clever move on his part-a casual question encouraged a casual answer, and there would be no embarrassment or hard feelings in the event of a rejection.

Arden deliberated. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, I think so."

All three of them sighed, relieved, and in seeing them Arden's face broke into a grin. The expression was quick, almost startling, and so friendly that Van could not help but feel that he was trustworthy.

"It's settled, then. Four's a good number." Plancor gestured toward the table, and they filled in the empty seats near Arden. Emboldened by their newfound alliance, the four started a conversation every bit as loud as the Careers. For the first time since the reaping, Van was confident that she had a chance.


	3. Chapter 3

**Katerina Emerald, District 1**

It was around noon on the second day of training, and the tributes were breaking for lunch. Katerina was accepted at the Career table without question. She positioned herself near all three boys and surveyed the field with enthusiasm. Other years had seen a better selection, but she was certainly not inclined to be choosy. Noah: maybe too young. Nice to look at, though, with that tanned skin and those pretty green eyes. Zen was an idiot, but had a charming arrogance about him. As for Yelena, the scar was off-putting, yet his sexy voice—low, with just a hint of a drawl—more than made up for it. Of course, she'd have to test all three in conversation before anything was definite.

Katerina was startled out of her reverie when Fang slammed down a lunch tray across from her.

"Had fun at the climbing station?" Zen asked, sardonic.

"Shut up," Fang snarled. With a violent motion, she began shoveling food into her mouth.

Noah frowned. "Whoa. What seems to be the problem?"

"She got stuck on the practice course and the trainer refused to let her down," Brienna explained. "He was really mean about it."

"It's all right," Katerina said, shrugging. "Most of us can't climb. Why would we need to, anyway?"

Fang scowled at her plate.

"I don't know. To find fruit on the highest branches of a tree? To pursue a tribute? To act as a lookout? To escape a predator? To—" Zen began.

"Cut it out, Zen," Noah told him. "You're not helping."

"What are you going to do about it? Send me to my room?"

A look from Yelena silenced them both.

"At least you weren't as bad as some of the other tributes," Brienna offered timidly. "The District 6 girl dropped a spear on her foot. And I nearly set myself on fire at the fire-starting station."

"See, you shouldn't worry. There's not even a lot of competition," Katerina pointed out.

Noah shook his head. "I don't know, though. That group of four over there is starting to worry me."

"Four? I counted three," Zen said. "Since, you know, the District 3 pair is pretty much one two-headed person. I don't think I've ever seen them apart."

"Another alliance is a threat to our sovereignty," Yelena observed, ignoring Zen.

"I wouldn't classify them as a threat," Fang said with a snort. "I think it's more important to have quality than quantity, and they've got one out of two. We have both."

"Yeah. We can take them. From there on, it'll just be a matter of finding the loners and picking them off," said Katerina.

Nobody wanted to talk about what would happen after all the loners were gone.

"Private sessions tomorrow," Zen remarked, breaking the silence. "Everyone ready?"

"I was born ready," Noah declared.

"Yes." Fang nodded.

"Probably," Brienna mumbled.

"I believe so…hm, could benefit from a few hours more." Yelena looked thoughtful. "The dummies do not try to crawl away as a real human would. Limited in that regard."

Brienna put down her fork, looking slightly nauseated.

"They don't scream, either, but I think I'd rather they didn't," Noah muttered.

"Exactly. They fail to accurately recreate the killing experience. Personally, I advocate using Avoxes for practice," continued Yelena, who seemed to derive enjoyment from the others' discomfort.

Katerina shrugged. "Why not? The tributes would be better equipped for the arena. That's a good idea. You should take it up with the coordinators." As far as she was concerned, Avoxes got what they deserved. How pointless, to speak out against a government they would never be able to overturn. Best to remove these few fools from the gene pool before their idiocy leaked into the general population.

"Well, I think I'm going to go back to the gym and keep training," Noah said in a loud voice, piling his lunch dishes onto his tray.

"I'll go too." Brienna stood. "Come and meet us when you're done."

Katerina watched them go. "Squeamish, aren't they?" she said with a contemptuous laugh.

"Unfortunately." Yelena fixed his panther-like golden eyes on her. "What say you and I practice our archery, Kate?"

The nickname threw her off guard. No one ever called her that, but she thought it better not to correct him. "Sure. Let's go now."

"No fair," Zen complained. "You took her."

"Don't worry, Zen, your turn will come." Katerina grinned at him and left the table.

**Noah Hearth, District 1**

The following morning passed much too quickly. Noah kept up a constant flow of witticisms during the entire training period, to the point where Fang became irritated and threatened to force-feed him nightlock at the edible plants station. His joking was more of a nervous habit than anything. The private sessions were at the forefront of everyone's mind, and he sought to relieve the tension. It seemed to be having the opposite effect.

"Will you shut up!" Zen exclaimed after a particularly odious pun. "I think I'm losing brain cells listening to you."

"I'm not sure you have any to lose," Noah retorted.

"Ugh. He keeps cracking terrible jokes! Someone make him stop."

"For once, I agree with you," said Fang.

Katerina shrugged. "I don't know. I think it's kind of cute."

"It doesn't bother me," Brienna agreed.

"I am indifferent," was all Yelena said.

"See?" Noah gave Zen a pointed look. "It's just you and Fang."

"That's because everyone else has tuned out to avoid permanent damage."

"That's not true," Brienna said, sending a spear into a dummy. "Some of it's kind of funny."

'You know, I think you're just jealous because he's getting more attention," Katerina suggested in a teasing tone.

Zen took to this immediately. "And who wouldn't be, when there are lovely ladies like you two around?"

Fang looked amused at her exclusion, but chose not to comment.

Zen's attitude annoyed Noah for several reasons. First of all, he insisted upon competing with everyone for attention despite the fact that the Games hadn't even begun yet. Secondly, Noah would have been more than happy to shut his mouth if Zen had phrased the question in a more polite way; he had only felt obligated to keep speaking so that he might lessen the general anxiety. And then there was that condescending smile of his.

"We should split up like yesterday," said Katerina. "Noah, Yelena, and Brienna, you seem pretty good at this. You don't need to spend any more time here, do you?"

"Probably not," Noah admitted. He didn't want to be left alone with Yelena with just Brienna for protection, but thought it would be unwise to argue.

"We have not yet learned how to build shelters," Yelena said. "Shall we make that our next endeavor?"

"Okay," Brienna concurred, though the look on her face implied that spending time with her district partner might make her physically ill. She and Noah exchanged a panicked glance while Yelena's attention was elsewhere.

The trainer at the shelter-building station was kind and eager, but even his enthusiasm could not help their morale. Brienna managed to prop two sticks together before her trembling hands knocked them over. While Noah's shelter fared somewhat better, it still ended up as a heap of rubble-he had forgotten to even build the fourth side of the structure because he was so distracted by Yelena's presence. _You think this is bad?_ he thought to himself. _Just wait until he gets ahold of something more dangerous than mud and sticks. That'll be fun._

There was one thing Noah knew for sure-this year's Games was going to be tough. And he didn't need the training scores to tell him that.

**Fang Meither, District 2**

Lunchtime rolled around, and one by one the tributes were called away for their private sessions. Fang was waiting for her turn. She wasn't nervous. She had a plan. Last night, she had gone on something of a scavenger hunt in the kitchens for a very specific purpose. The Gamemakers were about to find out what.

"Fang Meither!"

Fang stood up and made her way to the door. A guard showed her to the gymnasium, where the Gamemakers were seated at a long table. They eyed her with interest as she walked in, because today Fang looked like someone with a secret. Of course, none of them could have known about the small vial she was carrying, but they sensed nonetheless that something was up.

She headed for a set of ornate knives. No doubt Katerina had made use of them during her session; one of the targets across the room resembled Swiss cheese. With her back to the Gamemakers, Fang dabbed the contents of the vial on either side of a knife blade, being very careful not to spill any on her skin. Then she readied herself and sent the knife flying into a dummy. Stomach, not heart, but good enough. She sat back and let the poison do its work.

Sure enough, an invisible force began eating away at the dummy's cloth covering. The damage spread quickly until its abdomen was nothing but a gaping hole, and then the dummy crumbled apart. The Gamemakers let out audible gasps. One even took off his glasses like he didn't believe what was happening. Fang smiled at them, a yes-I-just-destroyed-your-training- equipment-with-household-chemicals kind of smile. She picked up the remaining knives and threw them into the neighboring dummy just for emphasis. It didn't fall apart, but it looked impressive all the same.

Now that the most important part of her plan was executed, Fang had to find another way to fill the rest of the time. She laid a few punches into the sandbag used for boxing, but felt that it wasn't the best way to demonstrate her strength. Yelena's idea about using Avoxes was starting to sound a lot better. It was no fun, fighting with something that couldn't hit back.

After hitting the bull's-eye on five different targets with knives, she was dismissed and left feeling satisfied. _Let's see Marikse top that._

**Zen Marikse, District 2**

Enobaria, Gerald, and Esme were waiting for them when they returned from their private session.

"How did it go?" Esme asked, her fake lashes fluttering with fake concern. She was Zen's stylist. Her silver hair matched that of the cat perched in her lap. One of those luxury cats that looked like it had its face ironed.

"I was amazing." Zen took a seat beside Esme and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "They loved me."

"Fine," Fang said.

Enobaria inspected the bottom of her glass. "What did you do?"

"Showed 'em a little muscle." Zen flexed and kissed the top of his bicep.

"Knives," Fang said, slamming her butter knife on the table a little too emphatically. Her stylist Gerald, let out a hiccup of fear. Or maybe that was just the wine.

"Talkative, isn't she?" Zen whispered to Esme. She giggled.

"Presentation and content training are tomorrow," Enobaria said, "but I think you should start coming up with ideas for an angle tonight."

It'd be impossible for Zen to feign weakness with his height and musculature. He'd have to rely on his humor to win the audience and gain sponsorship. That was the best way to put himself ahead of the pack.

"Also I'd like you to go to bed before eleven." Enobaria looked pointedly at Zen. "No fooling around like last night."

"Don't be such a hard-ass, Baria. You sound like my dad."

"I'm your mentor, and you'll listen to me if you don't want to die."

Zen groaned. "Ugh, why couldn't they have given us someone younger, anyway?"

"Do you know why I am your mentor, and not any of the previous winners from Two?" Enobaria asked, eyes narrowing. Her voice had dropped an octave so that the question turned into a growl.

"They died or something? Uh. Not really."

"Yes, that's right. They're all dead. And unless you want to join them, you keep your mouth shut."

"Don't tell me what to do."

Zen didn't realize what had happened until he felt the warm blood drip down his cheek. Turned out her nails were as sharp as her teeth. Little stars popped across his vision.

"You didn't have to slap him," Esme whined. "I'm going to have to cover that up."

Enobaria stood. "Excuse me, I'm done here." With that, she withdrew to the sitting room.

Fang's expression had moved past a smirk and into a Roman Holiday. Zen pressed his napkin to his face.

"The hell's her problem?" he muttered.

"The only reason that woman isn't an Avox yet is because everyone's too afraid to put their hands near her mouth." Esme said, scratching her cat behind the ears.

Zen pushed off from the table and went to find a sink. He had to wash out the wound as soon as possible, in case she had rabies or something. It could happen.

Examination in a mirror found the damage to be extensive: four angry red lines marred his perfect tan. And he had expected this part to be the easiest. Figured, now he was stuck between a Fang and a sharp place.

**Sandra Bennett, District 3**

She massaged Plancor's wrist as he sat, poised and tense, on the couch beside her, thumbs making absent-minded circles in his skin. Their mentor, escort, and respective stylists were seated beside them in the sitting room. Moments after Meloxi turned the television on, a face flickered into view. Something in the boy's expression reminded her of Plancor, but a few years younger. A few lifetimes less suffering. His score flashed beneath his photo. Noah received an 8, a low session score for a product of District 1. Sandra pitied him. Coupled with his youth, he might be the quickest targeted by his fellow Careers.

By the time they reached District 3, Plancor's hand had closed around hers. He earned a nine. That was a relief. Sandra pressed a light kiss to their interlocked hands and looked up just in time to see her own face looking back at her. When her score appeared, their mentor, Sigyn, let out a bark of laughter.

"A… 3?" Meloxi asked. "A 3? What could you have done to have such an awful rating?"

"Don't talk to her like that," Plancor said and leapt up. He was much taller than his escort.

"Sit down," Sigyn snapped. "I can't see the damn screen."

Seething, Plancor returned his attention to the scores. Their new allies did well. Arden secured an 8, and Van earned a 7. _Perhaps that would put him more at ease about my own score,_ Sandra thought. When he looked at her, she smiled. _Maybe I can save him._

**Plancor Balbon, District 3**

It took his stylists an hour to fit his suit. The next three hours were just as painful. Plancor always favored practicality over beauty, and to him, the entire exercise seemed pointless and boring. Sandra, on the other hand, smiled serenely as her stylists cooed over her pretty red hair and handed her dress after dress. Meloxi taught them how to speak, look at the audience, and use body language to communicate. Plancor found it hilarious considering Meloxi's own ineptitude in those areas, but went along nonetheless.

The next meeting took place on the sitting room couch and was much more suited to Plancor's strengths. Sigyn asked Plancor and Sandra questions, trying to unravel their stories and pinpoint their strengths. Plancor did most of the talking.

He explained his job as an electrical technician with his best friend, Harvey, explained how Harvey had been reaped last year. He told her about the small holographic photo drive he had pressed into Harvey's hand before his friend left and never came back. It contained only one photo: Plancor and Harvey as children. The night he was killed, Plancor had been watching the games with his buddies from the plant. A Career shot him with an arrow in the back when he was only three tributes away from winning. The room had fallen into horrified silence, and the other workers turned to look at Plancor. Plancor had to leave, get some air to clear his head. It was on that night that he met Sandra. "May I walk with you?" she had asked.

"Right, right." Sigyn waved a hand. "And what about Sandra?"

"Her parents died when she was young. She's lived with her grandmother ever since, and-"

"I want her to tell me," Sigyn interrupted him.

Sandra tilted her head. "What do you want me to tell you?"

"Anything. Everything."

"There's not much Plancor hasn't already told you," she said, eyes downcast. "My life was pretty uneventful."

"Was?" Sigyn asked. "That's not very optimistic."

"It was uneventful until I met Plancor," she corrected herself with a small laugh. "I'm sorry, that was awfully morbid of me." She squeezed Plancor's arm. He grimaced and ruffled her hair.

"Right." Sigyn cracked her knuckles. "Plancor. You know how to tell a story and gain sympathy from the audience. Play up the romance, the tragedy. You're persuasive. Just try not to be so... depressing. And Sandra," she sighed. "You're like a goddamn unicorn. It's disgusting. They'll love it. Just open your mouth once in a while."


	4. Chapter 4

**Brienna Stone, District 4**

The City Circle was full of people. Brienna steered herself across the stage and took a seat between the District 3 boy and Yelena. The prospect of the interview was trivial compared to the fears she'd been facing for the past few days. Three minutes of talking would not be a problem.

She drew a deep breath. Her mentor had advised her to act "friendly but tough" and keep the bravado to a minimum—which shouldn't be too difficult, considering she had no bravado to begin with. The angle was close enough to her personality that she felt confident she could pull it off. Whether or not she would be memorable, however, was another issue entirely. Of course, Marcella had done her best to help Brienna look memorable. The dress she was wearing was the same blue-green color of the robe from the chariot ride. Rhinestones formed a cresting wave at the hemline, which fell just above her knees, and she wore fishhooks as earrings. It was beautiful, but she wasn't sure if it would be enough.

Before the interviews began, she made a quick scan of her competitors. She made a point of skipping over Yelena because she did not want to make eye contact with him. A few seats away, Fang had her arms crossed and stared straight ahead. The District 7 pair kept giving each other terrified looks. The District 12 girl on the other side of the stage was slouched in her chair, her posture sharply contrasting with the feminine black dress her stylist had chosen for her.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I introduce you to the tributes of the fourth Quarter Quell!"

Brienna turned around just in time to see Augustus Albright, the interviewer for the past twenty-five years, march onstage. His hair was streaked pink and he wore a white suit with orange accents. "Can you believe it's been a hundred years, folks?" he shouted.

The crowd roared in response.

"It's a special year, so let's give it up for our special participants! First up: Katerina Emerald!" He had a habit of prolonging certain vowels for an absurd amount of time whenever he called someone by name.

Katerina rose from her seat and moseyed up to Augustus, a seemingly effortless movement that had taken many hours of practice. In the three minutes that followed, she managed to seduce all of Panem without removing a single article of clothing. Noah was equally charming. It seemed that, with each tribute, the expectations got higher. Time seemed to speed up for Brienna as the interviews went by. Before she knew it, Plancor's turn was half-over and he was telling the story of how he met his girlfriend. Brienna began to panic. How could she measure up to all these people? She did not have Katerina's flirtatiousness, or Fang's cool flippancy, or even the poise and grace of District 3's girl.

"Next up is Brienna Stone!"

Brienna was already out of her seat and walking across the stage._ It's just three minutes,_ she told herself firmly. _You'll be fine._

Augustus gave her an encouraging smile. "So tell us, Brienna…what do you have that the other tributes don't? How are you unique?"

Brienna held back a bitter laugh._ Let me count the ways._ "It's funny, Augustus. I was just thinking about that."

"What did you come up with?"

She didn't want to say "nothing," so she racked her brains for an answer. There had to be something. She thought of her fellow Careers, laughing and joking among themselves as though they would not have to kill each other within the next few days. She thought of Katerina with her coy smiles and Zen's endless boasts about things he would never be able to accomplish. "Sincerity," she blurted.

Augustus raised an eyebrow. "Sincerity, huh? Can you explain?"

"I mean that everyone watching can be assured of one thing: I'll never pretend to be someone I'm not."

"Is there a specific person you're thinking of who is guilty of that?"

"I'd rather not say." Brienna shook her head. "That would be unsportsmanlike."

Augustus looked disappointed. "Very admirable, Brienna. I can see that good sportsmanship is important to you. Now, then, do you plan on following the same policy during the Games?"

Brienna didn't know what to say. If she told him no, then her earlier statements would seem false and hypocritical. If she said yes, everyone would think her self-righteous. She compromised. "I suppose I do, yes. But if you think for a second that it means I don't want to win, you're mistaken." Because, the fact was, she really did want to win—she just didn't want to perform the necessary actions to get there.

Augustus laughed. "Here's one to watch out for, folks!" Then he addressed Brienna. "Our time is almost up. Anything else that you'd like to say?"

"Yes," she said with a sudden boldness. "I'm tougher than most people might think. I hope I can demonstrate that during the Games."

The buzzer rang. "All right! That was our tough but fair Brienna. Best of luck to you, sweetheart! Our next tribute is Yelena Sofiyanski!"

Brienna returned to her seat, feeling better than before. One event down, one more to go.

**District 4, Yelena Sofiyanski**

Yelena's first thought was,_ District 3 has to go_. One of them had to die. Too much applause. Would suck sponsors away from him. Either that or he had to get in a relationship with Brienna. He glanced sideways at her. She promptly veered into a wall. Maybe not.

Yelena's little sister, Illyana, had once mistakenly dropped the anchor to his fishing boat into one of the fish traps. They had had to lose the weight before they could go anywhere. She had blamed it on his placement of the trap (typical Illyana), but the story reminded him of Brienna. Had to cut off the dead weight before moving forward.

They reached the cars and boarded with the other Careers. Up close, the makeup on Zen's face could not conceal the thin scratches across his cheek. The remnant of a wild tryst with a Capitol girl? Yelena was almost certain. The elevator stopped on the fourth floor to let him and Brienna off. Their stylists and mentors arrived a moment later. Marcella sashayed up to Brienna and rested her lacquered nails on Brienna's shoulder. "Wonderful, love," she said. "You were cool as a whistle."

Yelena's stylist, Grimble, gave him a slight nod. He was a tall, green-skinned man. Agreeable. He never tried to command Yelena and spoke only when required to. Yelena nodded back.

"Satisfactory," Grimble said. Projected the right amount of menace, the right amount of competence. Flawless, and yet… lacking romance or drama. He did not say this, but Yelena knew what Grimble meant. He lacked Zen's brashness or Noah's self-deprecating humor. Could not remember the last day he had not spent training for the Games. Not much time for socializing.

"You've made yourself a safe bet," Grimble said. "That's the best you can hope for before you get into the arena, convince the sponsors of your skill."

Brienna let out an audible swallow, and Yelena weighed the burdens on his victory.

**Asha Larch, District 7**

"I don't even want to watch this," Asha moaned.

She and Keaton were seated on a couch in the sitting room. It was time for the interview replays, which would expose all of her shortcomings in excruciating detail. It had seemed bad onstage, but in hindsight it would be even worse. This Asha knew from experience.

Now the anthem was playing, and oh no, there they were onstage. She resisted the urge to cover her face with her hands. Panicking would only upset Keaton. Besides, the interviews were over. Over and done with. There was no way to change her public image, as her bumbling inefficiency was already cemented in the minds of the viewers forever. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration, but still.

The one good thing about watching the replays was the chance to review other tributes. Asha hadn't given them much thought at the time because she'd been too busy having a minor meltdown. Now she could devote her full attention to them, especially the Careers. Katerina Emerald offered no surprises whatsoever; her intended angle was clear just from the way she had walked up to the stage on reaping day. Her district partner was sweet and funny. District 2's girl Fang was terrifying in contrast. Zen Marikse, the boy she'd met after the chariot ride, seemed meaner and more elitist than he had in person.

District 3's story was very sad. The reaped pair was a couple who had been together for a year, and their quiet resignation moved the audience. District 4's kids, on the other hand, could not have been more different: the girl was surprisingly subdued for a Career tribute, while the boy was…not. He had some menacing quality that managed to translate both on and off-screen. Asha put him on her List of People to Avoid, which would soon reach the length of a small chapter book.

She barely paid attention to 5 and 6 in anticipation of her own interview. When the moment finally came and the cameras zoomed in on her face, her stomach twisted in misery. Contrary to popular belief, the camera did not add ten pounds. Ten pounds might have actually helped. Instead she appeared as small, pale, and scrawny as ever. Her stylist's laziness made matters worse—the untailored dress hung like a sack, and her hair, taken out of its customary long braid, waved uncertainly around her face. She looked like a waif. A starving waif.

"You didn't listen to anything I told you," her mentor complained.

For the most part, he was right. All his instruction about body language and eye contact had been forgotten the moment she set foot onstage. She stammered, mumbled, and blushed her way through the interview. Sometimes Augustus had to ask for an answer twice because she told it to her feet.

"I can't even watch this," said a member of her prep team, and he left the room.

"I bet he's just nervous," Keaton said. "It's okay, Asha."

After her turn had finished, Keaton was up next. He was sweet and cute and his story about his brother was sure to win him sponsors. Well, at least one of them was camera-friendly.

None of the other tributes really caught her eye after that, except maybe the surly District 10 boy who fell under her category of People to Avoid. As the interviews progressed, she became more and more aware of a disturbing fact. The Games began tomorrow. Not just the silly, pointless preceding events, but the real Games. The realization filled her with terror, but also a grim determination. _They think I'm pathetic. I'll have to prove them wrong_, she thought._ I can use axes, and I've got Keaton. I'll make it through somehow. What other choice is there?_

**Keaton Lancaster, District 7**

Upon saying farewell to their mentor and escort, Keaton and Asha headed toward her room to discuss strategy.

"We need to run from the bloodbath," he said, sitting next to her on the bed. "We don't stand a chance if we stay."

"Our main goal should be finding sustenance and avoiding conflict."

"I agree. What about allies?"

Asha thought for a moment. "If we get separated, trying to find each other again would be dangerous and a waste of time. Try to partner up with someone trustworthy."

"Right." _Someone who isn't a 13-year-old weakling like me_. He wouldn't blame her for wandering off on purpose.

Asha put her head in her hands. "I'm just worried because it's the Quell. It's unpredictable. The Gamemakers could decide to kill us off."

Keaton laid his hand over hers. "We'll protect each other," he said.

"Yes."

They sat in silence for a moment before Keaton stood. "I should get to sleep."

"Good night, Keaton." She reached up and put one arm around his shoulder in an awkward half-hug. He shuffled out of the room, avoiding her eyes.

**Arden Wade, District 10**

When Arden couldn't sleep, he wandered. It was difficult to find a good path while they were confined to the center. Funny, one day he was herding cattle and the next he was being treated as one.

Arden found himself on the roof, pacing. Despite the fact that he was usually alone on these walks, he found himself wishing Van or Plancor were up. They'd be allied in the arena, of course, but he wanted to talk to them before that. Before every conversation and action carried with it the weight of _we will die_ and _I might kill you_. Below him, cars raced and Capitol citizens yelled.

He imagined their group down there in the midst of the mayhem. Van gulping down a beer and entertaining the group with hilarious stories about her brothers. Arm-wrestling with Plancor. Sandra looking on in quiet amusement.

Something glinted in the darkness behind him. In two strides he had his pocketknife at the newcomer's neck. An… Avox? She was wearing a white dress.

"Arden?"

"Oh. Sandra." He lowered the pocketknife. She had not flinched even when the blade touched her throat, and that startled him more than her sudden appearance on the roof.

"Good evening."

"What are you doing here?"

"The same as you, I'd imagine." She leaned over the railing and observed the crowds below. Her pale skin glowed in the dim light.

"Plancor asleep?"

"Somehow, yes."

Arden let the conversation die a natural death. He didn't know what to make of Sandra. Wasn't sure whether he liked her or not.

"You seem nervous," she remarked_. As if the knife to your neck wasn't the first clue_. "Don't worry."

"Why not?"

"Plancor will make sure we survive."

"How is that going to happen?"

"You'll see." She smiled down at the partygoers.

Arden wished he could be as optimistic as she was.

**Evangeline "Van" Holden, District 12**

"Evangeline. It's time to get up."

Van groaned at the sound of her given name. She had tried several times to persuade her stylist to call her by her nickname, but apparently the message wasn't getting through. She sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes, and hopped out of bed.

"Your preparation will be done on the hovercraft rather than in the Launch Room," he told her.

Van blinked. "What? Why?"

"I can't say. That's classified."

_Probably has something to do with the arena_, she thought. Her stylist shoved a plain tunic at her and she pulled it on, too apathetic to be self-conscious. Before they left, she grabbed her token—a necklace consisting of a bug crystallized in sap—and tied it around her neck.

They walked up to the roof together. A chilly silence fell as they waited for the hovercraft, and Van was devoutly thankful when it appeared at last. The ladder took her inside.

"The windows are already blacked out," she observed.

A doctor, syringe in hand, bustled toward her. "Precautionary measure," he explained as he planted the tracker in her arm. "Can't have you guessing where the arena is before we arrive."

Something about this gave Van a bad feeling.

They found the breakfast room just around the corner. She threw table manners to the wind and ate with her fingers, unflinching under her stylist's stare. His disapproval didn't bother her much. By the end of the day, she might be dead. The proper way to fold a napkin was not high on her list of priorities.

Just as she finished off the last waffle, an Avox came to the door bearing her clothes for the arena. The package contained underclothes and a clean gray jumpsuit, almost like something a prisoner would wear. A pair of black work boots completed the ensemble.

"Where am I going? Jail?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Possibly," was her stylist's answer. "I don't know. They don't tell me in advance."

The outfit was okay with her. At least it wasn't bright pink like last year's. Besides, if she was going to be killing people, it wouldn't really matter what she was wearing anyway. Back in District 12, having a "nice" wardrobe meant your pants weren't riddled with holes.

"Put it on. Then I need you to come in the other room so I can style your hair."

All attempts to get her hair to lie flat were unsuccessful. He tried everything from hair gel to straightening mousse, but it still stuck up in all directions. The whole time Van sat there, tapping her foot with impatience and growing more tense as the minutes ticked by. At last, around nine-fifty, he threw his flat iron to the ground. "I give up," he grunted.

Van sprang up out of the chair. "Finally!"

"Grow out your hair like an actual girl. If it's long, I can do something with it."

"I'll do whatever the hell I want with my hair," she replied, stung. "And I'll thank you to keep your opinions to yourself."

"Don't worry. You might not have to hear them, because you might not come back."

She bit back a sharp retort. Trying to argue was pointless.

They passed the next eight minutes in silence. She had been fairly blasé about the Games this morning, but dread settled in her stomach. What if Plancor's meeting plan fell through? What if she didn't even make it through the bloodbath? There were so many things that could go wrong that she hadn't even considered until now.

Just as she was about to start pacing, her stylist spoke up. "It's time for you to go. They're dropping you directly into the arena." He showed her to a circular metal plate on the floor of the hovercraft and instructed her to stand on it. With the push of a button, the plate began to descend.

"Bye," her stylist called after her. "Try not to get blown up by the landmines."

Van clenched her teeth. _Asshole._

Now that she was out of the hovercraft, she was traveling through a glass tube and could see outside. She found herself in an enormous crater, at the center of which lay the gleaming Cornucopia. The other tributes were placed in a circle around it. Metal debris littered the ground everywhere she looked, and at the far wall was a gaping hole that Van assumed to be a tunnel. Upon closer examination, she discovered several other, smaller tunnels carving their way out of the crater. _Where are we?_ she thought._ I feel like I should know where this is._

That's when the announcer for the Games, Valeriano Templesmith, shouted, "Let the Hundredth Hunger Games begin!"

And at the same time, a twisted scrap of metal by her feet caught her eye. From her position, she could glimpse two numbers inscribed on it. 1 and 3. Those two numbers, the tunnels, the state of utter disrepair. The pieces clicked together in her mind.

_We're in the ruins of District 13._


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: From here on out we'll be using longer perspectives and time progression will be less linear.

**Plancor Balbon, District 3**

It would be so easy to light the tunnel if he had the right materials. A few spools of copper wire and glass bulbs. Plancor forced himself onward with each stride, like he was running through tar. Sandra followed, hand gripping his. Darkness was an unfamiliar concept to the denizens of District 3. He made Van go ahead. Sometimes, the mark of a good leader was knowing when to fall back.

The underground facility consisted of concrete hallways and large iron doors. Every now and then the group would pass a section that had caved in. In places the lights were harsh and fluorescent. In others there were no lights at all, and they had to feel their way along the wall.

What were the Gamemakers playing at? An arena as political as District 13 meant that they were trying to convey a message. Plancor hoped his group would not be the couriers.

No, he realized upon reflection, that honor went to the thin and stricken children of the District 13 refugees.

"How can you tell where we're going?" Arden asked as Van led them through another unlit area.

"My brothers and I used to dare each other to see who could go furthest into the mineshafts," Van said. "I guess I got good at finding my way in the dark."

They took a break in one of the rooms. There were no locks on the iron door, so Arden stood guard. Plancor investigated the room's contents. It seemed to be a bedroom, but the sparse decoration, flimsy cot, and concrete walls lent it the impression of a jail cell. The air was cold and stale.

"I don't understand why this is necessary," Arden said, leaning on the door. "Why are we running? Into the Gamemaker's traps, for all we know."

"We need time to gather food and water, and we wouldn't have been able to at the Cornucopia," Plancor explained. "We-"

He was interrupted by a rumble that shook the ground beneath them. Dust fell from the ceiling. A small black machine lowered down from a rectangular hole in the ceiling and projected a picture of a District 5 boy onto the wall. The noise stopped for a moment, then began again. "What's going on?"

"The cannon," Sandra said. "They're firing the cannon." The group fell silent.

Six more times it happened, a tribute shown on the wall with each reverberation. Both tributes from six. Lira, Arden's District partner, was dead. District 12's boy was as well.

Van drew her arms around herself and let out a small whimper. Arden had gone white and was massaging his forearm where the Capitol had placed the tracking device.

"I wonder who..." Van began, but trailed off._ Killed them,_ Plancor completed the sentence inwardly.

"Come on," Plancor said. His voice shook. "We need to keep moving."

They eventually reached a dining hall, a rectangular room filled with long tables and an adjacent kitchen. Sandra managed to find some canned food in the cupboards, so they sat down to eat. Sandra gave them each several spoonfuls in a tin dish.

"Maybe we should sleep here for the night," said Plancor.

"Is it night?" asked Van.

"It feels like night," Plancor replied.

"I'm not tired," she said.

"Then you can take the first lookout."

They slept on the concrete. Plancor awoke in discomfort to find Arden and Van sitting up, watching over them as they slept. For a moment, his heart went to his throat and pulsed there. His breathing became shallow. He was ashamed at leaving himself so vulnerable to strangers he'd only met a week ago.

"No more cannons," said Arden. "It's alright. You can go back to sleep."

Plancor settled back and twisted his head to look at Sandra. She lay on her side, arms curled over her chest. There was a slight frown on her face. He almost wanted to wake her up to provide reassurance of some sort, but he resisted the impulse. Sometimes Sandra just looked anxious when she slept.

In a way, seeing that Sandra was okay allowed him to relax a little. Their allies hadn't tried to harm either of them, even though they'd had the chance. Perhaps they could be trusted after all-at least for now. There was no telling what would happen as the Games progressed. Plancor tried to put that thought out of his mind, however, and closed his eyes once more.

**Katerina Emerald, District 1**

Katerina surveyed the surrounding carnage with a sense of accomplishment. A third of the tributes lay in various pieces around the crater, a good number for the first day. It didn't bother her that some of them had escaped. The hunt would keep her allies too preoccupied to turn on each other, after all.

The rest of the Careers were gathering around the Cornucopia. Noah and Brienna had opted to take inventory the moment the Games began, exempting themselves from participation in the bloodbath. They were organizing all of the supplies, which made it easier to divide them up, but Katerina was still annoyed. Why even join the alliance if they weren't planning to contribute?

Still, she put on a sweet smile as she approached the golden horn. Unity was important at this stage of the game. Alienating anyone now would be the equivalent of painting a target on her back later.

"What's our plan for the rest of today?" she asked.

"Divide supplies. Form packs. Hunt," Yelena replied. His voice resonated with a kind of quiet, feverish excitement. Katerina had the feeling that he was more at home here than he had ever been in the training rooms.

"Sure, let's do that. How's the sorting coming, Noah and Brienna?" she asked, trying to sound friendly.

"Good. We're…" Brienna's voice died away as she stared at the splatters of blood on Katerina's shirtfront.

"We're almost done," Noah mumbled, dropping a can into the proper pile. He didn't seem to want to look at anyone.

"You guys could probably use some space," Katerina said. "Let's figure out what to do next while we're waiting."

Everyone else backed out of the Cornucopia, leaving Noah and Brienna to their work. Katerina had a feeling that they wouldn't be very helpful in the planning stage.

"Did anyone hear the hovercraft?" Zen asked, looking around the now empty crater.

"Now that you mention it...no, I didn't," Katerina said. "Weird."

They tried to shrug it off.

"We should make a list of all the remaining tributes," Fang suggested. "Then we'll know what we're looking for."

"Good idea," Katerina said. "We'll go in numerical order. Did anyone get either tribute from 3?"

"I intended to. Failed. Too many distractions." Yelena's eyes narrowed.

Fang crouched and drew a crooked 3: B G in the dirt.

"District 5?" Katerina asked.

Fang raised a hand. "I killed the boy."

"Girl's still alive, then?"

"Guess so."

A 5: G was added beneath the 3: B G.

"The boy from 6 has been taken care of," Yelena announced.

"And the girl," Zen added.

Katerina nodded. "What about both tributes from 7?"

There was a brief silence.

"How did we let that happen?" Fang said blankly.

"Whatever," said Zen with a shrug. "We'll run into them sooner or later. They won't be a challenge."

They determined that the boys from 10 and 11, as well as 12's girl, were still alive.

"Need to split up," Yelena said after they were finished.

"Agreed. We'll never catch anyone with six people tramping around. But how do we decide groups?" Fang wanted to know.

Katerina batted her eyelashes at Yelena.

"Kate, Fang…would you like to join me?" Yelena asked, looking from one to the other.

"Love to," Fang said, cracking her knuckles.

"Thought you'd never ask." Katerina smiled. Her group pleased her. Yelena was an excellent archer, not to mention hot. While he was somewhat lacking in hand-to-hand combat, Fang's presence more than made up for that. They were a well-balanced trio.

Zen groaned. "You're leaving me with the kid?"

"I hope you're not referring to me," yelled Noah from inside the Cornucopia, voice echoing off the golden surface.

Katerina gave Zen a playful shove. "Hey. He's only a year younger than you are."

"I know, but I'd rather be with your group."

She raised her eyebrows at him. "Think you'll survive without me?"

"Barely. It'll be a struggle."

"Let's go see if they're done so we can distribute," Fang said, standing abruptly. "Hey, kid." She approached Noah and poked him in the back of his head with her knee. "What do you have for us?"

"I thought you could keep the weapons you picked up in the bloodbath. So, a bow and arrows for Yelena, knives for you and Katerina, and an axe for Zen. Brienna and I are fine with spears."

"The food and medicine we'll keep together," Brienna explained. "Each one of us gets a small first aid kit and a canteen, as well as a pair of night glasses."

After dispensing supplies, they cleaned their weapons and prepared to hunt. The first shift would be taken by Katerina's group. The others stayed behind to guard the food. Katerina, being the resident make-up expert, volunteered to help with camouflage. She insisted on pulling her teammates away one at a time for their makeovers, saving Yelena's for last.

When standing toe-to-toe with him, she came up a few inches shorter. Katerina swirled her fingers in the mud and stood on the balls of her feet, leaning against him as she did so. She dragged her hands across his cheeks. Yelena made an uncertain movement as if to push her away, but stopped. His nails scraped her wrist.

"Almost done," she said. Katerina ran her dirty fingers through his light hair, down his neck and over the raised scar tissue. Yelena remained impassive, breathing steady. Up close something about him smelled sweet, almost cloying. "There."

"Thank you, Kate," said Yelena, and his smile was all taut bowstrings and points.

**Asha Larch, District 7**

Asha clutched at the wall, drawing uneven breaths. She shuffled her feet cautiously, trying to find a way forward that didn't involve tripping, as Keaton followed close behind. In the darkness she could just make out the geometry of the tunnel ahead. Heaps of rubble cast threatening shadows, an unpleasant reminder that anything could be lurking just around the corner. Her paranoia was magnified by the fact that neither of them had managed to secure a weapon at the bloodbath. Worse things could have happened, but still...two unarmed, non-Career children didn't stand much of a chance in the Games.

Luckily for them, most of their competitors had fled into the other tunnels or were still preoccupied in the crater. The tunnels might intersect soon, however, which would force them into a confrontation. The thought terrified Asha, but no other choice presented itself. They had to keep moving. How else would they distance themselves from the Careers?

As Asha continued forward, something caught her attention. There was a faint tapping sound coming from behind them. Footsteps? She dove behind a pile of rocks. Keaton followed suit; he knew better than to ask. They huddled together, waiting.

The tapping grew louder and louder in a good imitation of Asha's heartbeat. The urge to poke her head out and look for the source was overwhelming, but common sense held her back. A sudden movement might alert the intruder-or intruders-to their presence. That was the last thing she wanted.

Keaton was shaking. She grabbed his hand, a gesture born of panic more than affection. It was impossible to tell whether or not they'd been spotted. Asha wasn't sure whether to run or to stay hidden, but it didn't matter because it was too late to make a decision. The footsteps were coming their way.

Four shapes weaved past them in the gloom. The group's tread was quick but heavy, their breathing labored. Asha remembered the quartet of non-Careers who had eaten lunch together during training. She had seen them run into the largest tunnel earlier._ Then our tunnels do intersect here,_ she thought. The clash she'd anticipated wouldn't happen, though. By some miracle, the group didn't notice them. Asha let out a long breath as the last one disappeared from sight.

"Are they gone?" Keaton asked.

Asha hesitated, listening. "I'm not sure. Do you hear that?"

A scuffling noise approached them. Maybe a tribute had doubled back to smoke them out?

Keaton bent down to pick up a sharp rock. Asha flattened herself against the tunnel wall.

The noise became louder, and a high-pitched squeak no human could have produced accompanied it.

"Run!" Asha whispered. They took off in the other direction. They had barely reached the mouth of the tunnel when Keaton cried out and fell forward. Asha whipped around to face the creature standing over his body.

She had seen these animals burrowing in her grandfather's garden, but in miniature. It was a rodent with a long snout, coarse fur, and small beady eyes. The muttation stood about knee height and was several feet in length. It hissed at her, revealing a mouth full of sharp teeth. She recoiled in disgust.

Now was the time when a weapon from the Cornucopia would have come in handy. Asha gritted her teeth and aimed a kick at the creature's face. Startled, it drew back enough for Keaton to struggle to his feet.

The enraged mutt lunged at her. She leapt back. "Kill it!" she screamed, and Keaton drove the sharp rock through the base of its skull. Its body jerked several times, then lay still.

Keaton pulled up his pant leg. The bite on his calf had swollen up and glistened purple. He looked up at her, eyes wide. Asha supported herself against the wall to keep from shaking.

"We should knock out the teeth," she said.

"What?"

"The teeth. They're sharp and probably poisonous, and we don't have any weapons." She took the bloodied rock from Keaton and slammed it into the creature's upper jaw. A long, grooved tooth shifted slightly. With a few more strikes it was loose, and she was able to yank it out.

By the time she had finished, Keaton's complexion was ashen. Asha turned the tooth over in her hand. From years of working in the forest, she knew that the poison of an animal could often be used to concoct an antidote. However, she didn't know how the process worked. They'd need Capitol medicine for Keaton's leg. With sponsorship a slim prospect, there was one way for them to obtain it: by taking it from someone else.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Sorry for the delay; school's been busy. This chapter has a warning for blood and violence. Thank you for your reviews!

**Noah Hearth, District 1**

Yelena, Fang, and Katerina had gone. Noah was glad. During training, he had thought that his allies had developed a kind of camaraderie underneath all that joking around. Now he had no such illusions. The bloodbath had been a rude awakening for him. No one was here to make friends.

Guard duty was better because he didn't have to see anything else happen. As long as no thieves made an appearance, anyway. He tried to send a telepathic message to the remaining tributes:_ don't come here, don't come here, please don't come here._

"I hope some people are stupid enough to show up," said Zen, "or things are going to get pretty boring."

_Of course._

Brienna frowned. "What if they're tougher than us?"

"Tougher than us? Nah."

"Ego much," said Noah.

"I take that back. It wouldn't be hard to be tougher than you," Zen said.

"Oh, you think so?"

"Yep. You don't seem too invested in the Games. Maybe you should have stayed home with your mother," he sneered.

"I would've really liked that. Unfortunately, she's been dead for about eight years now."

Zen's mouth dropped open in shock.

"Hey, Zen, listen real close," Noah said, cupping his hand to his ear with a thoughtful expression. "I think I can hear your sponsors leaving."

"Then who—who was that lady with you at the reaping?"

"My aunt. Weren't you paying attention?"

"Oh."

"Noah, I'm so sorry. How did she die?" Brienna asked.

"Cancer," Noah replied. "I was six." He turned away and pretended to watch a tunnel so he wouldn't have to look at her. Her sympathy would only make it worse.

"Yelena lost his mother, too, a long time ago," she said after a while. "I never met her, but I've heard she was a very nice woman."

"Mm," Noah said, though he found this information neither comforting nor helpful. He could not quite imagine sitting down with Yelena and having a heart-to-heart conversation about their dead mothers.

The three of them gazed out in different directions, waiting for trespassers that were unlikely to ever arrive.

"What are we supposed to do if people do come? Run at them while screaming and waving our arms?" Noah wondered aloud.

"No, you ignoramus, we shoot them." Zen plucked a bow from among the weapons, loaded it, and aimed it at an imaginary enemy. "We don't even let them get within thirty feet of us."

"That would be a great idea, if I knew anything about archery."

"You don't know archery," Zen repeated.

"Nope."

"Oh. Well, I hope that you provide us with entertainment for the short remainder of your lifespan, because otherwise you just proved yourself completely useless," Zen informed him.

"I was about to say that I'm better with throwing spears, but you didn't let me finish," Noah snapped.

"Spears are terrible weapons. They aren't effective at all."

"Yeah? Want to test that hypothesis?"

"Boys," said Brienna, "let's not do this now, okay?"

"If not now, then when?" Zen's eyes moved from Noah to an axe propped against the Cornucopia.

"I don't know. It hasn't even been twenty four hours, though, and you both looked like you were about to come to blows a second ago. Can't we wait a little longer?"

Noah was startled. "We didn't mean to upset you, Bri. I'm sorry."

"No, no, I'm not upset. I'm a little annoyed, actually." She let out a nervous giggle, as though this disclosure of feelings was something shameful. "What do you think? Can we have a temporary truce?"

"I can't promise anything," Zen warned. "But I won't continue any more arguments if he doesn't start them."

"If I don't start—"

"Hey!" Brienna's tone was stern. "What did I just say?"

Noah lapsed into silence, fuming. He muttered something about needing some air and walked to the other side of the Cornucopia. The only way to prevent conflict with Zen was to avoid him altogether.

As he stared dully at a pile of cans, something struck him as odd. The arrangement of supplies around the Cornucopia had been almost symmetrical. Why did this half look different now? He was almost positive there had been an axe leaning against the wall here, not twenty minutes ago…

"Guys, you'd better come and see this."

Brienna and Zen came trotting around the corner a moment later. "What is it?" Brienna asked.

Noah indicated the space that the axe had occupied. "A weapon's missing."

Brienna took a closer look. "Now that you mention it, I think there was an axe here. Like the one on the other side."

"Seems like some of the food is missing, too." Zen nudged at the stack of cans with his foot.

The trio gazed at each other in silent dread.

"The others aren't going to notice." Brienna's voice cracked in desperation. "Right?"

"If by 'they won't notice' you mean the shit will hit the fan, then yes, I agree," said Zen.

Noah placed a hand over his mouth. "We are so screwed," he said through his fingers.

"It'll be alright. They won't even know."

"You think Yelena won't know? He knows everything. He will be _apoplectic_," Zen replied.

"It's been real nice knowing you guys. I'll be thinking of you before my head is cleaved from my shoulders," Noah moaned.

"Maybe they'll let us go if we tell them it was his fault," Zen told Brienna.

"How was it my fault?" Noah demanded.

"We wouldn't have been so distracted if you weren't being irritating."

"Me? I'm irritating?"

"This isn't helpful," Brienna interrupted. "Let's find a way to explain. Zen, you were practicing throwing axes and you lost one of them. Noah, you and I got hungry and ate the food. Simple as that."

"How do you lose an axe?" Zen asked in disgust.

"You just did," Noah reminded him.

"It's okay. We learned our lesson." Brienna seemed to be reassuring herself.

"What did we learn?"

"That we need to pay better attention, Zen. From now on we take a position on each end of the Cornucopia so that we can see in all directions. Noah, you go to the other side, and I'll be watching from the tail. To your stations. Let's go!"

**Fang Meither, District 2**

"Is it going to work?" Fang demanded.

Katerina, Yelena, and Fang had been wandering in the tunnels, stopping every now and then when something piqued their interest. Presently an old elevator was the object under examination.

"I don't see why it shouldn't. The question is whether or not it's a trap," said Katerina, and pressed the button marked with the downwards arrow. It lit up under her touch.

"Doubtful," Yelena said. "Though we should still be cautious."

They could hear the faint whir of the rising car. Katerina started to whistle a cheerful little tune that set Fang's teeth on edge. How could she be so relaxed? Half an hour had passed and they hadn't even seen a sign of another tribute.

A moment later the doors slid open and allowed them to file inside. Katerina didn't take advantage of the little space there was, choosing instead to press against Yelena. Fang surveyed them with annoyance. She couldn't tell whether they were playing it up for the sponsors or Katerina just habitually threw herself at every guy in sight. At least she had stopped whistling-luckily for her, because Fang had a great left hook and was dying to practice it on anything that stood still long enough.

"Basement first. Most people would try to distance themselves from us as much as possible," Yelena said. Fang offered no response, but jabbed a button that read '40,' the highest number on the control panel. The doors shut and the elevator began its descent.

She could feel herself tensing. Perhaps this had been a bad idea. She did not trust any of the Gamemakers' creations, much less one that was designed to drop at high speeds. And there was no way of knowing what waited for them on the last floor.

They didn't have to wait too long to make the discovery. When the doors opened, they found themselves standing before a wall of wreckage. Exploring the rest of the floor was out of the question. There was not even room to move out of the elevator. They could do nothing with the mass of warped metal, cement, dirt, and ash that blocked their path. Something white was protruding out of the dust, and Fang thought it might be a bone from a human rib cage. She didn't have enough time to make sure.

The trio took a moment to stare at their stunned reflections in the closed metal doors.

"Let's try another floor, shall we?" said Katerina with an uneasy laugh. Yelena pressed a different button and they began to rise toward the fifth level.

When they arrived at their destination, everything was dark. The only light came from the flickering fluorescence of the elevator, and as they stepped into the hallway it slid shut behind them.

"Well then! Let's-" Katerina began, but she was cut off by an earsplitting scream.

"O-kay, I'm going back in the elevator," Fang announced, reaching for the button that would summon it.

Yelena caught her by the shoulder and jerked her away. "No. Wait."

The noise intensified and then broke off, followed by a round of sobbing. The Careers crept forward to investigate.

They came into a long hallway illuminated by a single, bare lightbulb. Yelena motioned for them to keep to the shadows as he strung his bow.

"It's District 5," Katerina whispered. The girl was hunched in the patch of light. She had no visible injuries. "Why is she crying?"

Hearing Katerina's voice, the girl sat upright and turned to look directly at them. Yelena pulled back the bowstring, aimed, and loosed an arrow in one smooth motion. District 5 fell without a sound.

"Keep alert," Yelena said. "Something might be out there."

There was a rumbling sound like the one that had indicated the death of the past few tributes. The lightbulb sputtered. When the Careers turned their attention back to the body, it was gone. They searched the rest of the hallway for the cause of District 5's tears, but found nothing.

**Evangeline "Van" Holden, District 12 **

There was a knife in the kitchen. Just one. Van took it. Sandra made them breakfast from the remaining cans, and the group sat down to discuss what to do next.

"We can't stay here," Van said. "There's no food left."

"I think we should keep moving," Plancor said.

"What if we doubled back?" said Arden. "We could retrace our steps and outwit the Careers. If I had to guess, I'd say they're still sitting pretty on the Cornucopia."

"What if they catch us? We're outnumbered six to four," Plancor pointed out.

Arden thought for a moment. "Two or three will leave to hunt at most; they can't trust each other not to make off with the spoils. It'd be easy enough to slip past them and lie low near the entrance to the tunnels."

"We can't guarantee there'll be supplies if we go back," Van said. "Chances are the Careers have taken them already." She glanced at Sandra, who smiled back but remained silent. _The girl can't open her mouth to say yes or no,_ Van thought. _She's completely useless. _

They compromised on exploring several rooms deeper into the labyrinth, and, if they didn't find any supplies, heading back to the beginning.

By the time they had investigated five or so rooms, everyone's patience was wearing thin. Each sound, each shadow brought renewed fears of a trap set by the Capitol or another tribute lying in wait.

"Let's turn around now," Van said. "We're going to tire ourselves out."

"One more," said Plancor. The last room was white, an unnerving, bright white that jarred Van in comparison to the friendly, muddied grays of the main tunnels. A rectangular machine tarnished on the far wall, cobwebs stringing it in place. Where the walls met the ceiling, the black eye of a camera gleamed.

Plancor began to eagerly inspect the machine. Arden sighed and sat down on the floor.

"I'm starting to understand why they call these the Hunger Games."

"Don't be such a grouch." Van sidled up to him and ruffled his hair. "Hey Plancor, what's the verdict on that thing? Any food in there?"

"The insurgents used this machine to print schedules on their arms," he explained. "I've seen old blueprints for these types of mechanisms before, when I worked for the plant. I wonder what would happen if I put my arm in it?"

"Don't," said Arden.

"What if the Gamemakers left it here for a reason? Maybe we're supposed to use it." He slipped his arm into the contraption. It whirred and clamped around his wrist.

A buzzing began. Plancor's eyes widened as a swarm of shiny black beetles started to pour out of the machine. He let out a shriek, his eyes rolling back into his head.

"Arden, do something!" Van lunged forward and grabbed Plancor by the shoulders. Arden smashed his foot into the machine, exposing a smoking mess of wire. Van hauled Plancor away as his arm came loose. He staggered backward and fell on top of her.

"What is it?" Arden helped Plancor up. He whimpered in response, clawing at his forearm.

His wrist was bleeding where the veins met his hand. Underneath the skin was a bulge. It began to move up his arm toward his shoulder.

"It bit me," Plancor turned away, screwed his eyes shut. "I felt it go inside."

Sandra grabbed his wrist with one hand and pressed a thumb hard against the bulge with the other. Plancor screamed. His face was as white as the walls.

"Van," she said. "Give me the knife."

Shaking, Van did as she was told. Sandra twisted the protrusion in her fingers, causing Plancor to cry out in agony, then took the knife and cut a slit down the center of it. She reached into the cut with her forefinger and thumb and began to feel for the parasite.

Van couldn't look away.

By the time Sandra had pulled it out, Plancor was slumped against her in a dead faint. Sandra laid him on the ground and stood. She crushed the wriggling insect in her fist. Her hands were covered in blood. Red began to spread out over the white floor from the hole in Plancor's arm.

"Let's take him to the kitchen," Sandra said. She pulled off one of her socks and tied it tight around the wound. "We can clean up there."

Arden and Van hoisted Plancor between them and followed Sandra's lead back to the kitchen.

They lay Plancor on the counter by the sink to examine the wound. The veins in his arm were turning a dull grey.

"We need medicine," Arden said. He unwound the sock and found some towels to wrap the cut. "We'll have to-" He fell silent.

Sandra was rattling around behind them, pulling out pots and pans from the shelves.

"What are you doing?" Van asked.

"Looking for weapons." She held up a saucepan and turned it around, examining it.

"You're gonna fight the Careers with that?" Van asked.

"If that's all we have, yes," Sandra answered. She swept her hair up into a ponytail. "Arden, you need to stay here with Plancor and guard."

"Even if you get your hands on antibiotics, he'll need time to recover." Van put her head in her hands. "Why couldn't your boyfriend have listened to Arden?"

Sandra lifted Plancor's uninjured hand and brought it to her lips.

"I'm sorry, Van."


End file.
